(MUOC) Blood

By amazing coincidence, I was working on this story all morning, partly inspired by Tom Petty’s song “Walls” from the Wildflowers album. This is only an excerpt actually, but the full thing (which is only just beginning) is up to about 10 pages now, so I'll spare you.

Some things are over;
Some things go on.
Part of me you carry;
Part of me is in gone.

Darren winced as he sung the lines. He seized the stereo faceplate and ripped it from the dash. The speakers crackled, then went dead as the lead wire to came loose.

He didn’t want to cry again, but the pulverized remains of his heart, churning in his stomach like a cyclone, assured him that he would. He gasped for air, but swallowed as much as he breathed; once the hyperventilating started he’d be done. He let off the accelerator and closed his eyes as long as he dared.
“Just breathe.” he commanded.
The mind has no authority over the heart. He pulled over lay across the front seat, resting his head against the passenger door, as he’d done not even an hour ago, when she had been their to cradle him.

He imagined her soft arms around his head, her soft blue eyes staring deep into his, which couldn’t help wander to the voluptuous curves beneath her white blouse.
“I thought you said it would be ok!” he sobbed to her memory. “Why wouldn’t you just come with me? The F’ing money? YOU PROMISED!”
He slammed his arm against the dash, throwing himself back out of her imaginary arms. A flash-fire of pain shot through his arm and raced through his veins, straight to his heart, then both went numb. The dashboard was cracked.

He pulled the letter from his hip pocket, unfolding it for the third time.
How could they have lied? How could they have let him call a cheap replacement his father for eighteen years? BULL CRAP, dad left! If he left, why does the letter call him your husband?! LIARS!

Dear Mrs. Jameson,
The Gulf War Veteran’s Association is pleased to announce that your son, Darren Jameson, has been accepted for full tuition reimbursement under the Fallen Comrades’ Memorial Fund, having received Sgt. James Riggs’ service record and verified all eligibility criteria.
We are deeply sorry for the loss of your husband, our brother in arms. We are committed to upholding our brother’s legacy through his son. If you have any questions, please feel free to contact us at the address or phone number listed below.
Sincerely,
1SG Tim Rutherford, USMC Ret.

It was only half a mile to the exit. He could be at Heidi’s apartment in ten minutes. He could beg. He could tell her how much he needed someone right now. She’d change her mind. She’d come with. She had a father though. She couldn’t just leave her family and run away anymore than Darren could stay with his. He recalled the picture of his stepdad[/I] in his wallet. He shoved his hand into his pocket, fishing for it angrily. He ripped it out, sending a 20 dollar bill flying as he did.
“LIAR! God Damned LIAR!”, his voice thundered as he began to shred the picture. Blood smeared across the remaining half of his fake dad’s face. Darren wiped his hand on his jeans yet again, disposing of the blood that remained. He smirked viciously and played back the scene of his step dad barring the door as he stormed downstairs with his gym bag, and how the pretender had fallen with a single blow.
“I trusted that faggot. I forgave him for everything because he was my DAD! THAT’S WHAT YOU GET!”

Darren had never wanted to kill a man before. The urge was convenient though. He put the car in drive and hammered on the accelerator. He took the exit, but passed Heidi’s place. To hell with her if the liar’s money mattered to her. To hell with an awkward moment two years ago, when a jet haired beauty in a kitchen staff uniform had mistaken him for a loafing employee, a stolen kiss just hours later, and that blushing grin after she gave it right back to him. To hell with graduation night too, and the ring... and the first and only time she’d let him have everything. None of it meant anything. Maybe it did at the time, but it had only been a month since then; how could it possibly mean anything and fade so fast? To hell with her. The phone buzzed. He silenced it without bothering to see who it was. There was no one he’d listen to.

The recruiting office was only a few blocks away, in the dingy remains of a dying strip mall on Oak Street. He finally had someone’s footsteps to follow in.

Little did he know just how well he followed them. A block behind him, Heidi clutched the phone, sobbing into his voice mail as she stared at the pregnancy test strip. She’d always teased him about the old rock tune’s he set for his answering message. It wasn’t funny anymore.

Some things are over;
Some things go on.
Part of me you carry;
Part of me is gone...

[edit on 19-3-2006 by The Vagabond]